Another night, one more day of feeling,
of talking with myself, again I go back to the case of “justice.”
I could only look through the cloudy glass.
Seeing the streets, the people reduced to a plastic routine.
Somewhere, I remember someone,
I remember my companions,
remember who I am, what I live for, why I live.
I do not cling to life, because clinging to it
only makes you afraid of ceasing to live.
I do not cling to freedom, the freedom of being able to howl,
being able to howl in a forest of cement.
Sometimes hatred takes me over, I fall asleep hating.
When I wake up I know that love is the alloy of hatred
that makes me breathe deep so as to keep living.
In confinement I feel the collective hatred of society
hatred of the prison, the isolation.
It is dignified to dispel the gaze from the floor,
to better focus on the enemy,
the enemy that holds me prisoner of its greed,
the enemy that demolishes the earth,
demolishes the free ways of living.
The enemy that confines, that punishes, that mutilates,
that terminally infects you with its cancer of Power
mutating from organ to organ.
We are its antibody, having developed an immunity
to its sick human plague.
We are the struggle without borders or distance,
we are the rage of the vibrancy of our blood.
We light up the light of the night.
Darkness and light are accomplices of our steps,
we are battle without reprieve,
a cellular metastasis in every place;
it is better to die fighting than to die without having tried,
better to be free even while confined.
Today again I have a dream, different than yesterday’s,
of the certainty of not having lost, not being defeated.
Tomorrow will be different than today,
my rage will be no different, nor tomorrow’s.
Strength will go to those who rage with me.
It will reach across the walls and distances
and I will howl to the moon once more.
I will claw at the cement floor
beyond which lies mud and grass
until my claws bleed.
I will camouflage into the columns,
breathe the air laden with filth instead of mist.
The marks on my body tell me who I am.
When I close my eyes
I travel to the oneiric paradise
where the silence of the wind
is like the kiss of a companion.
Another day of not seeing myself defeated
a day of dreaming without abandoning who I am,
another day of being ready to arise tomorrow
San Pedro Prison, rainy La Paz
transl War On Society